dear hollywood, I would like to see a prequel story for:
> Little China before there was big trouble in it, when Egg Chen was still an egg
> Rambo, before even the first blood was shed
> the land before before before before time
> the formation of stars that would later be host to wars
Al Gendry was your average artisan of occult artifacts.
His whole life was going to hell…
Al: More bills!
Until he met… a hellraiser
Pinhead: I would like you to build me a box that makes people’s lives worse.
Al: Hallelujah!
<Pinhead winces.>
Summer, 2023… THE TORMENT NEXUS.
Once it’s done being crafted, we’ll have such sights to show you!
What is the difference between a sabertoothed tiger and a tuna fish sandwich?
Well if you don’t know, I’m not putting you in charge of lunch orders.
But I am putting you in charge of a top secret initiative to bring extinct species back to life with the explicit goal of letting them break free and kill as many humans as possible, making for a slow, inefficient way at tackling climate change.
What do you call an 800 lb gorilla sitting in your living room?
Charles! My god, it’s Charles, my 800 lb gorilla son! Back from the war!
My boy, you never wrote! We thought you died in some muddy trench, or tangled in barbed wire! They sent us your dog tags and a medal! A letter from the president, Charlie!
Why did they ever let a gorilla enlist, I cried! What good is a president’s sympathy when my family is shattered!
But now! You’re back! HOW?!? Oh never mind that, let me get a kettle on…
Your call is important to us. We teach our children about your call… their imaginations light up, thinking about its possible content, about the vast stretches of quiet waiting that precede it. They chirp and bark in imitation of a call that has yet to happen, with no way of knowing if their little animal cries are accurate.
The millionaire pushed another shell into the side of his shotgun and used the barrel to indicate the open meadow in front of us. “And now it is time to hunt… the most dangerous game.”
Me: “Like what, like a frisbee with razor blades on the side, or like… football but the ball is a grenade? Which game?”
Apparently I was supposed to be running, I dunno, they don’t make things clear here.
It’s Wednesday and we all know what that means! We collect the bloody iron spikes scattered along the road and once again mourn the escape of the Hammered Man who every week pulls itself free from its many restraints and attempts to rejoin the forest.
But there’s only one tree as big as you, eh, Hammered Man? Can’t hide at all in our meager wood. It takes a few days, but pretty soon you’ll be back in the road where we put you. Until next week, most likely.
Legislators have pushed forward a measure calling for all “little men in the garden” to stop “softly singing in the silver moonlight, calling to our bones, calling for them to come home.”
“Let’s get back to having a country where we wake up in the morning without finding our teeth in little rows on the window sill, lined up like they’re in a parade, like they were only stopped by the glass and otherwise they would have been done to the garden,” says Senator Finkle.
I put my last words on a cassette and rigged it into a loop so it could keep playing
cause I wasn’t sure when I was going to die
but it’s been running so long, the tape is flaking, there’s this hiss
My Knife is a Love Letter
Murder is a Greenhouse and You Are the Flowerbed
Black Cat’s Regret
All the Colors Are Black
What the Rabbit Saw in Hell